


No Return

by AskHisDisciple (PisceanQueen)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PisceanQueen/pseuds/AskHisDisciple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dolorosa travels Alternia with her young son who is experiencing his first visions. He gives a village its first lesson on caste equality. But does his message have the desired outcome?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Return

“Mother?” his childish tones were timid amid the black quiet of the cave.

“Mm?” the jade-blood queried, bringing herself to light and slowly illuminating the both of them with her strange gift. She wondered if he was afraid. Not unusual for a wiggler his age.

“I saw something strange when I closed my eyes,” he whispered, said eyes wide and awestruck.

Mother Maryam sat up fully and looked at her son. He was still so small, just like his voice, even though he was already four sweeps old. As she ran a hand through his messy hair she smiled at him and pinched his cheek affectionately, “So you had a dream, then?”

“Um. It was like one I think. But it wasn’t. Because I was there and I saw it.”

An expression of curiosity washed over the young Maryam. Her son rarely spoke in riddles, but something seemed to have changed about him this evening. He wasn’t sleepy at all despite the hour.

“What did you see, Signless? Do you recall it?”

“Uh-huh,” and with small hands he gesticulated above them both with a far off gaze at the cavern ceiling, “the stars danced for me Mother, they were _consilations_ like the ones you showed me, and then they turned into trolls. I was one of them but I couldn’t see me. But I was me? And they all talked to me and called me a name that you didn’t give me. I had another name! They laughed at me when I said some words but I didn’t mind. And then I saw that they were all friends even though they were all different. They liked me even though I was red and no one tried to cull me.”

His caregiver stared at him for a few moments digesting the tale she’d been told. As she opened her mouth to reply to him he continued.

“You should have seen where they lived, Mother. It was here but it wasn’t here. Everyone got along real nice though the tyrian girl didn’t like me much. They all wore lovely colors and strange clothes and they weren’t in all black like most trolls are. Oh. And there was a girl who looked like you.”

That shook her, “a girl who looked like me?”

The Signless babbled on, “Uh huh, only she had long hair kinda and paint on her arms and metal pieces in her face and you could see her rumble spheres kinda from the sides like this,” and he pantomimed what it looked like with childlike innocence. Maryam would have scolded him for being improper if she hadn’t been so unnerved by the boy before her.

There was certainly no reason for Maryam to blush, but she did despite her glow. What in the world had her child dreamt? It was common for their people to have nightmares when they closed their eyes but this seemed nothing like his usual bouts of tossing and turning. The boy looked positively excited about it all.

“Perhaps it was just a dream, dear,”

He shook his head at her, his little horns poking out through his shaggy head of hair.

“It wasn’t, Mother. I wasn’t sleeping. I just closed my eyes, I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mother.”

And really, he had no reason to lie, so she believed him. But what did it all mean?

 

-

 

Through the next sweep Signless started telling Maryam more and more about the things he had seen of the other world. As he had grown up a little more he had become far more articulate than his four sweep old self had been, describing people and scenarios with such startling clarity it was as if he had been reading it from a book or describing a scene from a movie. When given a stick of graphite and a piece of paper, he’d draw the people he saw to the best of his ability. The people never changed no matter how much he drew them and their details never differed. Their outfits always remained unchanged which Maryam was always keen to notice.

Signless always insisted the tattooed girl in the jade dress was her. And the more she heard about the girl the more Maryam believed it very well might have been her. She liked the girl’s dress, and her tattoos were far more elaborate, but with a regretful sigh she doubted that at her age she could pull it off anymore.

But there was far more than just the characters in this story her son related to her. There was a whole world. Beforus, he called it. The hemospectrum instead determined responsibility towards the lower castes, the higher you were on the spectrum, the more responsibility you held for those below you. Signless kept pointing out the parts of the system that weren’t entirely perfect, and at times he’d curse his other self for being the way he was, but he knew why. He had been coddled for being different. He hadn’t been allowed to spread his metaphorical wings and so he remained firmly on the ground, listening to the drivel that because he was different, he was special.

Signless didn’t want to be special. In fact, he resented every minute of it. He didn’t like that he had to hide away from everyone else. He wanted people to just accept him as another troll. He knew that even though that other person was him, he really _wasn’t_. He was Signless now. He had no name and liked it that way. Yeah, he saw some memories that weren’t his, but he knew in his blood pusher that he saw them so he wouldn’t turn out that way. He vowed he wouldn’t.

 

-

 

It was a rare event to brazenly enter a village. Usually there was a tense period where Maryam would venture in herself, sneaking about, looking for signs of Highblood patrols, or any sort of militia; anything that could bring danger to her and her son. Only when she felt safe enough would she head back to the outskirts and retrieve Signless so that they could restock supplies, get a change of clothing, or acquire much-needed ablutions, but always, always under hooded cloak. They lived like rats, the Signless once pointed out, which earned him a pinched nose. Mother Maryam had always done her best to provide for both of them, no matter the danger they faced, which in hindsight the young boy finally realized with a heartfelt apology.

They crept into the town, thankful that most of the inhabitants were, judging by their worn signs, lower on the spectrum than Maryam was. That was usually a sign of safety, but never an assurance. Still they went about their business.

Payment was often an issue. Being on the run usually meant you had little to barter with. Often Maryam offered her skills as a seamstress, a passion she had held long before she’d been relegated to the Brooding Caverns, to pay their way. With the constant state of disrepair of most Lowblood clothing her services were always required. Signless made sure to keep to himself as his mother worked, his hood always dimming his features in shadow. There were often questions as to his presence, but Maryam brushed them aside, changing topics effortlessly. The less the people they met remembered about them both, the better.

 

-

 

One evening, after finishing up work, the mother and son took to the street to find shelter for the evening. What they saw stopped them both in their tracks. An indigo-blooded and a cerulean-blooded pair of trolls were kicking a maroon-blooded boy as he curled up on the ground and wept.

_“Avert. Your. Eyes. Next. Time!”_ the indigo snarled as the boy on the ground howled with each blow. They had even chipped one of his horns which lay a few feet away from him. Those around him shuffled by with eyes averted, hoping to avoid a beating themselves.

“Fucking trash in this place. But trash is always a bit of fun, eh?” her cerulean companion cackled.

Signless had finally had enough. Scrunching up his face with anger he stepped forward. Maryam held her hand out before her son to scurry him away but he dodged and instead picked up a jagged stone lying by a heap broken brickwork.

“Quit it you stupid bulgelicking freaks! Leave him alone! Wow you’re so fucking cool picking on a wiggler!”

Both of the aggressors leveled their gaze on the boy.

“Who the fuck are you kid?” said one.

“Looks like fresh meat to me,” said the other.

“Signless!” his mother called out in a harsh whisper, her arms out to stop him, but she couldn’t reach him as he took aim with his projectile and nailed the indigo-blood right on the jaw, flooring her. Before the cerulean could process what had just happened, the small boy picked up another sizeable rock and threw it at him with all the strength his five-sweep old frame afforded him. This one hit the burly troll in the mouth, and he fell to the dirt howling and spitting blood and teeth. Passersby stopped to watch in horror.

Maryam wanted to scream, but her voice was stuck in her throat. Her pleas remained unspoken, though her arm stretched out towards her child as if she could grasp him, but he was too far away. Without a moment’s hesitation scenes of their no doubt eventual brutal imprisonment flashed in her mind, or worse, their gory culling in front of a murderous audience, televised for all to see. All she had ever done to protect him was gone in an instant.

Her son, instead of despairing like his lusus, ran forward with all the bravery of a child and helped the maroon-blooded boy up. He told him to run and not look back with a smile, which the other child needed no urging to do, then turned to face the two Highbloods, now suddenly so low before him.

“Assholes! You think you’re so fucking awesome because you’ve got blue crap chugging through your blood pushers, but you’re _not_. You’re just trolls like the rest of us! You bleed when you get hit, you fall down and cry like a wiggler like we do, and then you get humiliated because of it! It sucks ass, doesn’t it?! Serves you right!”

“My dear, please, come back to me!” Maryam said in strangled tones, but her voice was so small. This couldn’t be happening.

“We might be ‘Lowbloods’ to you guys but if you ask _me_ I think we’re all _equals_!” Signless shouted, his tiny chest puffing out with pride.

By now a large crowd had formed around the three trolls, and murmurs sparked up through the crowd. Equals to the Highbloods? Could they be?

The boy looked around to those gathered, “You’re all equals! All of you! You know that right? I’ve seen it in my visions. We can all work together as friends. It’s been done before! We don’t need to beat each other up because we’re different! We shouldn’t have to hide from one anoth—”

And then his feet swung up out from under him, his face slamming into the ground, hard. The Indigo had come to her senses, and grabbed the boy by his leg and lifted him up, hissing dangerously at him. Her blood poured out of her mouth flowing over a nasty wound that had opened on her jaw.

“You fucking _grub_. You’re going to die. Right here!”

All trepidation flew from Maryam’s mind by then, her boy’s blood had spilled and she could smell its sweetness, and with a hiss of her own her skin took on a blinding luminescence that startled the crowd. A pair of bright yellow eyes bore down on the bluebloods. Someone among the din of confusion quailed and fell back, calling out ‘rainbow drinker!’ into the night. Others around them gasped and stared at the jade-blooded female in disbelief.

“…Unhand my son or so help me…!” she snarled, too-long fangs bared.

“Mother!”

Hemospectrum or no, the Highbloods knew well of the legends of the rainbow drinkers. Hushed tales considered myth by many and real by few. Seeing one before them in the flesh the two Highblood trolls decided not to take their chances, murmuring curses and dropping Signless without a word then rushing out of the village as fast as their limbs could go. More stones flew in their wake as the Lowbloods took the precious opportunity to even the score for once.

Still glowing, Maryam approached her son who was rubbing his bright red blood off his temple, smearing it across his brow for all to see. Some of the others cried out as she reached him, scared that she would partake of one so young, but all she did was embrace him and cry. With every tear she shed, and every time her shoulders bobbed, the glow faded until she returned to normal.

“Don’t ever do that again! I almost lost you…” she breathed into his ear, and everyone was so quiet they could hear the gentleness in her voice.

What happened next was unexpected. A great roar arose from the crowd and they rushed in towards the pair, raising them up and cheering.

The Signless, still a little boy at heart, laughed at the sudden attention.

“You scared ‘em off!”

“Never seen anyone stand up to those two before!”

“Equals? Imagine that! I like the sound of it!”

“Should have drained those two dry, ma’am!”

“Doubt we’ll be seeing them for a long while. We’re finally safe again!”

Everyone was talking over one another and it made it hard to hear exactly what anyone said to the pair. One voice, however, rose above the din of celebration.

“Ain’t seen blood that color before, what the hell _are you_ anyway, boy?”

The crowd stilled again and the two were set down safely. Mother Maryam rushed to her child’s side and threw his hood over his head, ignoring his startled cry and not bothering to put his horns in the holes. She wiped his face with his cloak, trying to remove the bloodstain.

“He’s my son… my ward,” she explained, “I care for him.”

A brown blood spoke up, “He follows you around then? Why? And what’s with his blood. I ain’t seen anything like it.”

Maryam looked among the others, frightened, “He would have been culled for it so… I raised him from a grub. Myself.”

Confused whispers rose up. What in the world was she going on about?

The brown blood rolled his eyes and scolded his neighbors, “Idiots. She’s like one of them jungle beasts! You know. They raise the young they make. That’s what she’s doing with the kid basically.”

And understanding dawned upon them.

“I’m not a kid,” and Signless pushed away from his mother and addressed them all, tossing his hood back, “I’m Signless. And I can’t believe you let those freaks boss you around. Where’s your damned backbones?”

“…They’d kill us if we tried anything,” one person answered.

“And they’ll kill you if you _don’t_. What makes them so much better than any of you anyways? Just the fact that they have different color blood? Don’t most of you have psychic powers? Can’t you make them sorry for crossing you?”

Everyone looked among each other.

“Listen. I’m not saying you should beat those guys up, even if they _are_ asshol—“

“Signless!” Maryam scolded.

“Even if they are _jerks_ ,” and he glanced at his mother timidly, “you can’t fight ‘em like they fight you. That’ll just make more fighting. You have to get them to understand that we’re all the same on the surface. There isn’t much difference to any of us!”

“You said you seen it,” the brown blood continued, leaning in.

“Uh-huh. In my visions.”

“Visions?”

And so Signless explained to them all in crystal clear detail all he had seen of Beforus. How the caste system worked, how much better it could be, how great things were with Highbloods and Lowbloods getting along, filling quadrants, making friends. Every one of the villagers listened in awe to tales of the other world. Maryam stood by her son’s side, the worry within her in full bloom now. There was no going back. No return. Word would spread of what had transpired that night. They would be in even more danger now. She almost wept anew.

By the end of it all the two were invited to stay at the brown blood’s hive. He even let them take the recuperacoons. It had been almost a sweep since either Signless or Mother Maryam had slipped into one. In the morning they were allowed ablutions and a home cooked meal with no request for compensation. Other villagers supplied them with enough goods to last them for weeks, grateful for everything they had done.

Mother Maryam and her son took their leave of outpost three eighty-one, the Signless waving to the Lowbloods in the distance, shouting that things would get better, to just wait and see.

The two journeyed for a better part of the day before an Imperial Cruiser floated towards them. They both took shelter by cliffs and watched the giant ship pass.

“…That’s a warship,” Maryam breathed.

“It is? How do you know, Mother?”

She eventually covered her mouth in horror. The ship was heading directly for the outpost they had just left behind. Even if they could have rushed back there would be nothing left when they got there.  The Highbloods her son had slighted the night before would make sure of that, Maryam knew. She’d seen entire villages culled before for the most minor of infraction. It was as though they never even existed in the first place. After all, more Lowbloods would eventually hatch to replace those culled. It was a simple cycle.

Signless kept asking Mother Maryam questions and she had to fight the urge to shout at him for what he had done. But he hadn’t done it maliciously. He had seen something wrong and needed to right it. She knew that deep down he was doing the right thing, just like she had taught him to do. He’d saved another little boy, just like him, who was no doubt far off by then. But what had it cost all those other people?

 

-

 

That night they lit no fire. Signless eagerly tore into the hoofbeast jerky she provided him, shaking her head when he offered her a piece, and his eyes bright and cheerful as he enjoyed his meal. She would have to eventually tell him what it meant to follow his visions and right the wrongs of the world… but right then was not the time. They would put great distance between them and the ruins of three eighty-one. Only then would the mother show her precious child the real nature of the world she had sheltered him from for so long.

She decided she would leave it up to him to decide how he wanted to proceed. But deep in her heart she already knew the path he would take. Maryam just prayed that it wouldn’t lead to his death in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it.  
> I just got to writing late at night and did. Not. Stop. 
> 
> Next up I'm writing about how the Psiionic comes into the picture.


End file.
